NOT SAINT LOUIE Like an old cigarette butt it smelled laying there all indecipherable.

He rolled over the other direction and was greeted by even more chaos. The chaos that is a Tuesday night in East Saint Louis. The poor parts, not the clean parts. Part living, partly dead. He grabbed for the one thing that seemed reasonable. The horn felt cold to his lips, must have been winter out. Too drunk to have noticed he guessed. The valves of the horn he pressed but nothing would come out. It worked when the weather was more seasonable but now it gave him grief. He threw down the horn and decided to stand up. Up like some great behemoth rising out of the waters. He wobbled over and took a piss. Drained his lizard. That changes your outlook a bit. Shaking it just short of playing with it, he looked for his pants and found them. So, he could now get the hell out of here whatever hell that was and get some air. Then maybe he could consider whether or not to go to work, depending on what day it turned out to be. Why would he do that he wondered and turned from the shabby hotel into a shabbier still bar and ordered a drink. The mopping barman said too early. Story of my life. Too early then its too late. ------------------------------mindbringer, 21 November 2012